


vulgar when brought to light, vulgar the lie

by feminist14er



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feminist14er/pseuds/feminist14er
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke goes into policing because it's in her blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vulgar when brought to light, vulgar the lie

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the BEAST I've been working on more or less since the season two finale, and fortunately it's an AU, so that canon couldn't possibly mess with it. It's very much inspired by Rookie Blue (which is basically where all of my policing knowledge comes from), so any similarities to those plotlines deserve recognition. There are descriptions of gang violence, although I don't think they're particularly graphic (not more graphic than anything you'd see on the show, certainly). Still, you've been warned.
> 
> Title from Jose Gonzalez's "Deadweight on the Velveteen".

The first thing he thinks when he sees her is that she’s tiny. As he sees her walk toward him, her radio on the wrong side, he realizes, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that Sarge is about to hand him a rookie, and what he really wants to do is turn around and pretend to be absent so this doesn’t happen.

He’s been a beat cop for five years, just got out of a long undercover, and for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t want to train anyone. It’s not just this girl, it’s _anyone_.

Because he can’t just vanish, he takes a long drink of coffee and tucks his thumbs into his belt loops, waits.

Sure as shit, Sarge and the woman come to a stop in front of him, and Sarge introduces him to his new rookie.

“This is Clarke Griffin. She’ll be training under you.” Sarge gives him a long look, one that he’s sure is supposed to convey Sarge’s expectations and skepticism simultaneously. Bellamy gives him a curt nod, turns to the girl. 

He looks her over, not to be rude, not to check her out, but just to see what she’ll do. She doesn’t flinch, that’s for sure. She meets his gaze with stony eyes, says “Do I pass muster?”

“Your radio is on the wrong side,” he says with a smirk, before turning away and walking toward the parking lot. She huffs and fixes the radio, then trails after him. He takes another sip of coffee, peers at her over his shoulder, checking that she’s got it right this time. “Clarke Griffin, huh? No relation to Superintendant Griffin, I presume?” She didn’t flinch before, but he can see her bristling now.

“She’s my mother.” She responds tersely.

“Ahh, a princess then.” He takes a sort of smug pleasure in the irritation that flashes across her face. “Well, let’s go then princess, get those hands dirty.” He strolls out of the division, smile on his face and keys in his hand. He waits, sees her grab their bag and hustle after him.

When they get to the squad, he says “Remember, just ‘cause you’re the superintendent’s daughter doesn’t mean I’m holding your hand,” before flashing her a glib smile. 

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d need my reassurance,” she snaps before slamming into the car.

\--

Her first day is a wreck. Her radio is on the wrong shoulder, her partner is a dick, and their first case almost ends in her shooting someone. She makes the collar, ultimately, but her hands are shaking as she leads him in, and all she wants to do is go home. She doesn’t want to fill out paperwork, doesn’t want to spend another second across from her partner, who seems to have taken her position as her mother’s daughter and run with it. She knows the other rookies heard him call her “princess”, and if it isn’t the first time she’s heard it, well. She certainly didn’t want to hear it on her first day at the job she actually _likes_.

When she finishes her shift, she doesn’t ask her TO if he needs anything more, just slinks as quietly as she can out of the bullpen. She’s heard of Bellamy Blake, of course she has. He has one of the best arrest records in the division and he’s known for his ability to complete long undercover operations. He’s good. He’s just an asshole. He’s managed to rattle her composure, and she’s a _Griffin_. She doesn’t rattle easily.

Still, she has to take several deep breaths to keep from crying once she hits the locker rooms, and it’s there that she sees the other female rookies, both of whom are looking at her with some measure of interest. She turns her back on them, changes quickly, and darts out the back door. 

She walks home in the cool fall air, and tries to remind herself that she wanted this, aside from her mother’s ambitions. She _likes_ being a copper. She’s always wanted to do it, even when her dad pushed her to pursue engineering, med school, anything she wanted. She’s always wanted this. She watched her mom rise through the ranks as a kid, and even though her relationship with her mom is rocky, Clarke is proud of what her mom’s been able to do for women, for policing in this city.

When Clarke reaches her apartment, she takes another minute outside, takes a few more breaths, and tries to let it go. Tomorrow’s another day, even if it does mean being called princess all day.

\--

They fall into a routine. Clarke makes Bellamy coffee. He drinks it too fast, burns his tongue, swears, and they go on patrol. Clarke sometimes gets paired with other officers, the longer she’s a rookie. She spends some time under Wick, who she likes. Spends some time with Miller, who’s also a legacy, his dad a staff sergeant across town; with Murphy (who she doesn’t like, but respects. Murphy understands the back alleys like no one else, and if she knows he’s good, she doesn’t want to know how he got that way). She spends a whole week with Roma, and if the other woman is terse, she also looks Clarke dead in the eye and doesn’t condescend to her. She makes it clear that she might not like Clarke’s privilege, but she also respects that Clarke isn’t abusing it, and that she admires Superintendent Griffin.

Most of the time, though, Clarke’s on patrol with Bellamy. He quickly realizes that she’s the best medic of the rookies, throws the EMT bag to her when they encounter a serious traffic accident, and when she saves a life the first time, her hands covered in blood, she sees respect in his eyes. He never stops giving her the medic bag after that, and she has to wonder why he never does it, but she’s good, and he knows it, and she’s grateful.

(Princess stops being as much of an insult after that).

They take care of traffic accidents, missing kids (a missing dog, once, on a slow day), overdoses, and robberies. She does indeed get her hands dirty, and while the jokes at her expense don’t stop, they don’t come as often, and they aren’t as biting.

She’s always respected him, or at least been in awe of him, but she feels her anger and bitterness toward him subside day by day as he teaches her competency. He stops judging her for being the superintendent’s daughter, and starts judging her for _her_ , and that’s all she’s ever really wanted.

When he cuts her loose, she smiles at him, and sees something new in his eyes, something that goes beyond respect. Her stomach flips a bit, but when she looks back up, he’s giving her an easy smile, nothing different in his face.

(For months, she thinks she imagined it).

\--

Even when she isn’t a rookie anymore, they’re still partnered together pretty often. She gets partnered with Raven a lot, too, one of the other rookies, and they become good friends, but it’s usually Bellamy that she’s partnered with, and it’s become an easy source of familiarity. She knows how he works, and he knows how she works since he trained her to work that way.

It’s easy, until it isn’t. 

He’s in the squad trying to get some paperwork done when she’s shot, and she’s wearing her vest, but it must be the armor-piercing bullets they’ve heard about, because she can tell she’s hit, is starting to apply pressure when he draws his gun, fires back at whoever knocked her down. She faintly hears tires peel out, sees him over her, fear written all over the lines of his face, and passes out.

\--

She wakes up in the hospital to searing pain in her side, waits for the memories to come back. She sees him when she starts to sit up. He’s fallen asleep in the chair next to her bed, and she’s a little surprised to be honest, because they’ve been friendly (hey, they hang out at the bar sometimes), but they’re not _that_ close (not like Raven and Wick, for example, who think they’re circumspect, but Sarge definitely knows).

His eyes flutter open, and he looks over at her as she tries to move. “Clarke, hey, hold on. Take it easy.” He guides her gently up to sitting, squeezes her hand at her gasp of pain. “What do you need?”

She looks over at him, bites her lip. “Well, water would be great, but I really have to pee.”

He snorts and she flushes a little. “Clarke, we deal with drug addicts and dead people all day, you don’t have to be shy about peeing. I’ll get you in there, and come get you when you’re done.”

She smiles, leans on his arm. “Deal. I do feel like I’m getting special treatment, being the princess and all,” she teases.

He flushes a little, and she’s quite charmed by that, actually. “Well, we’ve been waiting, but everyone else went home for the night, so, uh, here we are, I guess.” He drops her arm, nods towards the bathroom. “You good?”

She looks at the distance from the door to the toilet, already feeling the pain shooting up her side. “We’re good.”

If it takes her longer than usual, he’s good enough not to comment on it, not to offer any extra help, but she’s exhausted when she gets back into bed, and it’s with a grim realization that she begins to think about how long it’s going to take to get back on her feet.

“What, uh, what happened?” She asks.

He shakes his head. “Well, you were shot - ”

“Oh really? So _that_ explains the awful pain in my side,” she says with irritation. 

“Okay, Princess, no need to get nasty over there. There was a drive-by shooting, I guess, and you were shot.”

“You _guess_? What the hell, Bellamy?” She glares at him. It takes her a second to realize he’s not looking at her, not making any eye contact at all. “You aren’t telling me something. What’s going on?”

When he looks up at her, anguish is written all over his face. “Your mom wanted to be the one to tell you.”

She starts to shake, knows something is deeply, deeply wrong. “Bellamy, you’re scaring me. What happened?”

He grabs her hand, lets it tremble in his. “Princess, your mom thinks someone was trying to kill you in revenge for something she did.”

“And?” she asks, already afraid of the answer.

“Clarke, your dad was also targeted. He didn’t make it.”

She doesn’t recognize the wail she lets out, thinks someone else in the hospital has lost their universe, and tears are streaming down her face. Bellamy pulls her into her arms even as she struggles against him before finally collapsing in his embrace.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when she wakes up, he's gone.

\--

She’s on crutches two days later when they hold the funeral. She couldn’t dress herself, but her mother came and got her into her dress blues, got her hair severely pulled back and under her peaked cap, and that’s how he sees her. 

He doesn’t speak to either of them, isn’t a friend of the family (didn’t have much respect for the family, truth be told, not until Clarke was assigned to him), but practically the whole force is there to pay their respects to Jake Griffin in his capacity as the superintendent’s husband, and so he sees her.

Unlike two days ago, her eyes are dry. She leans heavily on her crutches as though she bears too much weight on her shoulders, but she’s clean and put together, and her eyes are entirely closed off.

He doesn’t see her again for two months.

\--

Her convalescence is probably longer than is strictly necessary, but she defends it to her inner critic by reminding herself that she was shot, and she _lost her father_.

Of her two parents, she always related more to her father. Her mother was often absent, working odd shifts as a beat cop, then as a detective. By the time she’d risen to being a white shirt and started working more regular hours, Clarke had been in high school, and hadn’t needed her mother to be focused on her. Clarke went to college because her father wanted her to, took drawing and ceramics because her father encouraged her, but policing is her blood. Her mother, when she was around, drilled policing into Clarke’s brain. Clarke knew to watch her surroundings closely when she was four years old, started memorizing the map of the city when she was eight. She was CPR certified when she was ten, and she did any activities the division offered for kids.

She could have been a doctor. Hell, she could have been a professional artist. But policing was what she knew.

She’s always worried she let her father down by not pursuing something different.

Still, as she sits in her apartment, working at her easel, she knows that he was proud of her.

She goes back to work in three days. Her wound is healed over, puffy scar tissue now lining her stomach, and she has two thoughts: who will she be partnered with? and: has her father’s killer been caught?

Her mother has been keeping her away from the details of the case, and while she recognizes it’s procedure, not just because she was involved in the shooting, but because it’s family, she also knows: she will bring the killer to justice.

\--

Her first day back at the division starts with Raven hug-tackling her. The other rookies she trained with hug her in quick succession, smiles on their faces, but it is Raven who drags her aside to look her over, cups Clarke’s face in her hands, and tells her to get more sleep.

Raven is as tough as nails, but she’s also the person Clarke’s been turning to more and more, and Clarke takes Raven’s advice with a watery smile.

Clarke’s paired with Bellamy for the day, and she’s initially grateful, but it turns into him coddling her, turns into a shouting match, and they’ve bickered their whole partnership, but they’ve never fought.

The fights just keep coming after that, small, hissed arguments during parade, and big blowouts when they’re outside.

She doesn’t understand why he just keeps pushing her buttons until one day he stops the argument and kisses her, lips pressing against hers, tongue brushing at her lips. She gasps, can feel the electricity running along her veins, feels her muscles lose some of their stiffness, feels like her body is relaxing and unfurling for the first time in months, and she _feels_.

There’s a hunger roaring in her that she hasn’t felt in a long time, but she knows: they can’t do this. Not like this.

She pulls back from him regretfully, leaning her forehead against his. “We can’t do this right now.”

He pulls back, and his lips are already pulling into a sneer, the defensive thing he does, when she cuts him off. “I’m not saying we can’t do it ever. But I don’t want to fuck you because I’m mad at you, because I’m mad at everything. I don’t want being with you to be a mistake.”

His eyes soften, and he nods. He grasps her shoulder gently, turns and walks away.

She slumps against the wall, closes her eyes. _If only_ , she thinks forlornly.

\--

She sees the file on his desk one day in passing. All of their files are labeled with last names, if they know them, and it’s labeled “Griffin”. Probably he shouldn’t be working the case either, which makes her all the more curious. She grabs the file, walks into the break room, pushes it against his chest.

“Are you working my dad’s case?” She doesn’t mean to sound accusing, but she knows she does when she sees his eyebrows rise.

“Your mom assigned me.”

“My mom the _superintendent_?” She asks incredulously.

“Well, unless you have a second mom running around somewhere that you’ve failed to mention…” he trails off, smirking a little.

“No offense, but why’d she assign _you_? Why’d she _assign_ anyone?”

Bellamy sighs. “You, uh. You might want to sit down.”

Clarke feels like stomping her foot. She’s tired of being coddled, tired of half-truths. “No, I will not _sit down_. What the hell is going on?”

Bellamy sighs again, sits anyway. “Do you remember when your Mom and Sarge were partners?” Clarke nods briskly. “Of course you do. Well, right before your mom was promoted sergeant, they worked one last case together, along with Commissioner Jaha. Did she ever tell you about the turf war between the Grounders and the Mountain Men?”

“Jesus, Bellamy, I listened to the news. I was in college, of course I know. Stop stalling.”

“Your mom struck a deal with one of the Mountain Men captains, a man named Dante Wallace, who had information about the Grounders that could take them out. Your mom and Sarge, and the Commissioner, were able to take out their top commanders, and the Grounders haven’t been the same since. But there are a couple of upper level members left, and your mom thinks that they could be coming after her, through you. And your dad.”

“What about Sarge?”

“Sarge’s mom passed away, oh, a year ago? And she was his only family. And you’ve seen Sarge, he cares about his rookies and his coppers, and that’s about it. He’s always here. I think he cares about your mom’s wellbeing, but I don’t get the feeling they talk much anymore. And I don’t know about the Commissioner.”

Clarke shakes her head. “The Commissioner’s son died when we were seventeen, and he doesn’t have any other family. And, no, Mom and Kane don’t talk much anymore. I don’t know what happened. Well, I have some guesses. So what makes her think it was Grounders? And why are you involved?”

If he’s surprised by her knowledge of the Commissioner’s family, he doesn’t show it, rubbing the back of his neck instead. “I – well, I mentioned to her that I might have some knowledge about the Grounders, and asked her to assign me to the case.”

“You. You asked my _mom_. You asked the _superintendent_ to be _assigned to a case_.” Clarke snorts, starts laughing. “Oh my god, it’s too good. And she _gave_ it to you?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not sure why it’s funny, though.”

“She just. Doesn’t really like being told what to do,” Clarke says, sobering a little. “What exactly did you tell her to get her to let you do this?”

He’s all but squirming in his chair now, and she can see his discomfort all over his body. It really only makes her want to know more. “My, um. My sister is involved with a Grounder. They’re married, actually, so I know a lot about them. And I was there, when you were. When you were shot. So I hoped between my knowledge of the gangs and my being there that your mom would let me help.”

“I, um. I didn’t know you had a sister.” She says, looking down at her hands. When she looks back up at him, her face is sincere, all traces of her earlier humor gone. “Thank you. For wanting to help. But if this is based on gang affiliations, aren’t you worried about your sister?” 

He laughs shortly. “O’s got it covered. She’s not in the gang, but she’s safe with them. Lincoln would never let anything happen to her.”

“Is it weird, having a gang member for family?” Clarke asks.

“It’s the price for making sure I still get to see her, so yes, but also no. You’d probably like her, actually. She’s got an independent streak a mile wide, which is how she ended up with him, I think.”

Clarke smiles. “She sounds wonderful.” She looks down at the file. “I’ll take this back to your desk, then.”

“Clarke. You’re not really supposed to help, but. It’s going to be ugly, this fight to take them out again, and I think we’re going to need everyone we can get.” His face is serious, and she realizes, not for the first time, how handsome he is. He’s stoicism and cynicism and grit, something bitter underneath, but he’s a good man, she thinks.

“Thank you,” she whispers, ducking her head.

\--

They work the streets relentlessly after that. They do their normal rounds, of course, but they do them more efficiently, always trying to find a way to make more time to get into Mountain Men territory. Clarke passes information on to Raven, with Bellamy’s approval, and she gets Wick, Monty, Miller, and Jasper on board.

It’s on one of the days that she’s patrolling with Raven that she meets Octavia.

The call comes over the radio that a man has been stabbed, and Raven turns on the siren as they head toward the house. When they get there, a dark haired woman is holding a towel against a man’s stomach, repeatedly telling him not to leave her. Raven pulls her away, and Clarke goes to work, changing out the towel for a sterile bandage, applying pressure. The woman is yelling in the background, and she can hear Raven asking her to calm down, yelling out “Clarke!” just before the woman is next to her again.

Clarke turns to look at her, sees the resemblance immediately. Bellamy’s talked about his sister a little more since their conversation, so she knows her name is Octavia, not just “O”. She hasn’t even taken a good look at the man beneath her hands, but she’s willing to bet this is Lincoln, Octavia’s husband.

Octavia is butting up against her, holding the man’s face in her hands, and Clarke takes a breath. “Octavia?” she asks. The woman’s gaze snaps to hers. “Are you Octavia Blake?”

“Who the fuck are you?” she snarls.

“I’m Clarke Griffin. I’m your brother’s partner,” she answers, trying to stay calm. “Is this Lincoln?”

Octavia nods wordlessly, her gaze still stuck on Clarke’s face. “Okay, I understand that you’re really worried right now, but I need you to give me a little more space. You can’t touch him right now, but you can stay close, and you can talk to him. The paramedics on are their way.” Sometime in the last minute, Raven has stepped forward again, is kneeling on the other side of Octavia.

Octavia nods, starts talking to Lincoln again. The paramedics arrive minutes later, load Lincoln up, and head off, Octavia in tow.

Clarke strips off her gloves, calls Bellamy. “Hey, your brother-in-law was stabbed, and Octavia’s at the hospital with him.”

She holds the phone away from her ear as he yells. When he’s done, she puts it back. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I got here in time to try and stop the bleeding and call the paramedics. Raven and I are heading to the hospital now to take Octavia’s statement. You can come, but you have to stay calm. Octavia’s pretty freaked out, I’d guess.” There’s silence over the line. “Bellamy?”

“I’ll be there soon. Will you tell O?”

“I’ll tell her. Be safe.” Raven looks at her.

“Be safe, huh? Geez, Clarke, we practically live together and I don’t think you’ve ever told me that.”

Clarke rolls her eyes.

\--

When Bellamy arrives, Octavia is passed out with her head in Clarke’s lap, Raven has long gone, and Clarke is fighting to stay awake. He runs in looking haggard, and he’s in front of Octavia before Clarke can even really register anything other than a vaguely Bellamy-shaped blur moving toward them. 

His hands are on Octavia’s face and she’s gazing blearily up at him before she bursts into tears again, and his arms are around her, lifting her out of Clarke’s lap as Clarke acknowledges him with a wave and a jaw-cracking yawn. She’s not sure how long they’ve been there, but she thinks Bellamy must have waited to come until he was off shift, and she’s feeling bone-weary at the moment, wanting nothing but to go home and curl under her blankets.

She’s beginning to think that’s a long way off, the way things are going at the moment. Not just the investigation into her father’s death, but whatever tie-ins Octavia and her husband have to that case – all of it is starting to seem like a little bit much, and as much as she wants justice for her father, she also feels this case spiraling out of her control. As she meets Bellamy’s eyes over Octavia’s head, she can see that he’s starting to see the human cost of this investigation too.

\--

They get Octavia settled back at home that night, and Bellamy drives her home in silence after that. His brow is furrowed, the look he gets when he’s deep in thought, but also the look he gets when he’s _angry_. She’s been working with him long enough now to know it, and she’s not surprised. She’s not sure she’s got the energy to deal with one of his outbursts, but for heaven’s sake, his brother-in-law just got _stabbed_ , she can probably handle it.

When they get to her apartment, he stops the car, waiting for her to get out. When she looks over at him, he’s still staring at the steering wheel. She sighs, says, “Do you want to come up?”

He looks at her, eyebrows raised.

“No funny business. But you’ve been through a lot today, it’s really late, we’ve got shift early, and you know my house is closer than yours to work.” She holds his gaze, hoping he sees that she means it. Finally he nods, turns the engine off and lowers himself out of the truck. He might be spitting mad, but he’s also exhausted, every line of his body drooping under the weight of the day. When she gets out of the cab, she grabs his hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing. He squeezes back, smiles at her gratefully as she fumbles to get the keys in the lock. She walks him upstairs, still holding his hand, and drops her bag by the door.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” she says. She probably could have talked a nurse into letting her shower at the hospital, but she didn’t want to leave Octavia, and she didn’t want to put her dirty uniform back on. It’s not evidence, so Raven didn’t need to take it, but it’s definitely covered in Lincoln’s blood, and she’s going to need to get it cleaned. She washed her hands, too, but she still feels grimy after she does any EMT work. “There’s some food in the fridge, there’s tea in one of the cupboards – make yourself at home. You can shower after me, if you want.” He nods, and she lurches off toward the bathroom and hot water.

When she’s done, she gets out a towel and a toothbrush for Bellamy before putting on sweats. When she walks back to the living room, he’s lying on the couch with his eyes closed, but she can tell he’s awake. “You can shower, if you want. I left a towel and a toothbrush out for you.”

He grunts before heaving himself upright and wandering to the bathroom.

Clarke isn’t really hungry, but she isn’t going to sleep until Bellamy’s settled, and she didn’t really eat properly ( _again_ , she thinks) today. She thinks about making scrambled eggs, and sags against the fridge instead before getting out a granola bar and chewing on it aimlessly. When he emerges from the bathroom, he’s wearing the sweatpants from his bag, and no shirt, and she swallows before averting her eyes. She promised no funny business, so no funny business will be happening, but _still_. He finally grabs a shirt from his bag, and watching him put it on is almost as bad. She knows she’s attracted to him, knows she has been for quite some time (probably around the time she saw that _thing_ in his eyes, if she’s being honest), but her feelings for him are growing more and more inclined to something beyond her desire to fuck him, and it’s not a problem, exactly, but it’s a little compromising when they’re trying to weed out a possible gang war, and whatever comes with it. 

When he finally turns around, she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He huffs a laugh. “Clarke, I want to sleep for about a hundred years right now, and then make sure my sister is okay again, and then sleep some more. So, not really.”

She nods. “Fair enough. You can take my bed, and I’ll take the couch - ”. He’s shaking his head before she’s even finished her sentence.

“No, Clarke. You probably saved Lincoln’s life today. You can definitely sleep in your own bed.”

She looks at him, sees the weariness in him again, bites her lip. “We’ll share,” she says. “Still nothing more, just sleeping. We need it if we’re getting back out there tomorrow.”

He looks at her, his gaze measured, before nodding slowly and following her to her bedroom at the end of the hallway. There’s some thrashing around as they both get comfortable, but before she finally falls asleep, he mutters “thank you” against her hair, and she falls asleep smiling.

\--

It’s a good thing they get a good night’s sleep that night, because the next few weeks are the most utterly exhausting of Clarke’s entire life, and she thinks, of Bellamy’s also (and she knows, she’s finally learning more, that he raised Octavia all on his own; she thinks he’s been pretty fucking tired in his life, but they’re _dragging_ now, absolutely fraught with tension and the physicality of exhaustion).

Bellamy starts staying at Clarke’s because it’s the midpoint between the hospital and the division, and she’s grateful for the warmth of his body wrapped around her at night. It’s extra nice that it’s him, but she’s so downtrodden from their investigation that she would take almost anyone sharing her bed, pulling her into sleep.

As soon as Lincoln’s out of the hospital, Clarke and Bellamy are interviewing him, and it’s as he explains the history of the Grounders and the Mountain Men that Clarke gets a sick feeling deep in her gut. His story reeks of police corruption, someone getting bought out, and she knows, she intimately and personally knows the people who worked this case, and she feels, just for a minute, like she’s going to throw up in Octavia’s living room. As it is, she excuses herself, goes to wait on the front steps.

Octavia comes out and sits down next to her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says, glancing over at Clarke.

Clarke manages a wan smile. “Something like that, yeah.”

“So you’re the superintendent’s daughter, hm?” Octavia asks, looking her over. Clarke can feel her hackles rise, ever so slightly. She’s pretty sure Bellamy has talked to Octavia about her, but she doesn’t know what he’s said, doesn’t know what Octavia thinks, so she just shrugs and nods.

“Look, I don’t hold it against you, and I definitely owe you for saving Lincoln, but your mom fucked us over pretty hard,” she says, looking right at Clarke. “I don’t know what happened in the division that they decided that making a deal with the Mountain Men was the best choice, but – Lincoln lost his entire family when that happened, and the Grounders haven’t – obviously they haven’t been the same, but –“ Octavia trails off, and Clarke can tell she’s frustrated, fighting to find the best words.

“I think the cops were hoping the Grounders would disperse, but the Mountain Men just kept coming for us, just more quietly, and someone had to step up to lead. She’s – not the best, to be honest, but she’s the person we’ve needed. You’re going to meet her at some point, if you keep doing this, and just – be careful. Keep each other safe.” She looks over at Clarke, earnest this time, and Clarke doesn’t know her well enough to do this, isn’t sure if it will ever be appropriate, but she just wants to hug her, just a bit. “Bellamy’s important. I know that he’s supposed to keep you safe, since he trained you, but I’d feel better knowing you’re keeping him safe, too.”

Clarke nods. “You’ve got my word,” she says, and she’s never meant words more seriously.

\--

When they get back in the squad, Clarke is itching to turn everything off – their body cams, their computer, and explain her theory to him. She knows they can’t, knows they can’t be above the law right now, but it makes her fidget, and that makes Bellamy cranky.

“Would you like to share, Clarke?” he finally asks, a little bit sharper than usual.

She looks over at him, sees the tension in his face, the way his eyebrows are pressed together. “Later,” she says, waving him off. She takes a deep breath, tries to settle. 

The thing is, they’re still doing normal policing, just like they’ve always been doing. It’s just – surreal, now that she thinks they could be on the cusp of a major breakthrough in her father’s case. Doing patrols is still important, it’s still work she values, _likes_ even, but it lacks the urgency that she feels to get back to her house, talk Bellamy through her hunch.

Still, they finish their shift like usual, and if Sarge looks at them askance when they turn over the report of where they went that day, he doesn’t say anything, just grunts and shoos them out of his office.

It’s when they get to Clarke’s house, cams finally put away and listening ears hopefully put to rest that she turns to him, says “I think my mom helped negotiate the deal between the Grounders and the Mountain Men.” She shakes her head. “Actually, no, it’s more than that. Yes, I think she and Sarge and the Commissioner negotiated that deal, but I – “ she breaks off, chews her lip.

Bellamy reaches out to her, grabs her arms, centers her. She nods gratefully. “I think that they were bought off. I don’t know if all of them were, but – Bellamy, the Grounders were all but wiped off the map. We already knew that, but Octavia told me Lincoln lost his _entire family_?” Bellamy nods. “Who would have let that go? If it’s a truce, it’s a _truce_ , it’s not open season on one gang. The only way I can see it is if someone bought them off, and the Grounders clearly lost, so – I think they must have taken bribes from the Mountain Men.”

She’s tried to stay calm, but her breathing is coming faster now, and it’s a struggle to keep the tears at bay. “Bellamy, I think my mom’s dirty, and I think it got my dad killed.” She steps out of his arms, goes to sit down.

He stands across from her, crosses his arms. “Okay, we don’t know that. It’s an okay hunch, but we don’t have any evidence for that. We can go looking for that, but it’s going to take time, and it’s – Clarke, it’s going to be really hard to prove, even if it’s true.”

She looks up at him, and she’s torn between being relieved and being frustrated. “Okay, yes, I’m a cop too, I know that. Are you saying we shouldn’t try?”

He scrubs his hands over his face. “Fuck, Clarke, obviously we should try. I’m just saying – we’re talking about bringing down the entire police department here, not just a few dirty beat cops. It’s going to be really hard, and I’m asking you – it’s your _mom_. Are you sure you want to keep digging?" 

“If she somehow got my dad killed, I need to know, Bellamy. I sit across from her at dinner every week, she stood next to me at his funeral and cried. I need to know.”

He nods. “Okay then. We keep digging.”

\--

They decide to selectively bring other coppers in on what they’re doing, because they’re literally running themselves ragged trying to keep up with normal policing, on top of regularly patrolling the Grounders territory. Bellamy thinks it’s better to stay out of the Mountain Men territory (if there’s even really a delineation anymore – sometimes Clarke’s not totally sure if there is, but then, Octavia seemed pretty clear that there was, and she feels like they should trust the woman attached, but not necessarily loyal to, the gang), and Clarke agrees, at least until they have something more solid.

Still, they bring in Wick (after Raven vouched for it) and Miller, and even though it goes against Clarke’s initial instincts, Murphy. When she asks Bellamy, he looks at her, says “He took a bullet for Sarge during his rookie year. He’s an asshole, but he’s loyal,” and that’s good enough for her. She didn’t know that about Murphy, and she looks at him with newfound respect.

They convene at Clarke’s house once a week, different days, different times, trying to run as low a profile as possible, and they exchange notes as quickly as possible. Clarke is slowly building a file, picture evidence, any interview notes they get. They’ve got Lincoln’s statement in there, and Clarke knows that Bellamy’s working Octavia, trying to get an interviews and a statement from her.

Clarke also knows they need Lincoln to get them in with the Grounders, and it makes her entire body hum with nervous energy.

It’s when people disperse at night that Bellamy curls around her, pets her head, tries to get her brain to slow down. It takes time, and she thinks it’s taking more time every day, trying to unwind from this case. She knows that it’s the kind of case that sends cops into dark places, and she’s glad she has Bellamy by her side, tethering her to the good things in the world.

\--

It’s several weeks of doing this, quietly trying to get interviews, statements from people in the Grounders territory, if it isn’t Grounders themselves, when Octavia calls Bellamy while they’re on patrol. Clarke’s driving, and she half hears the conversation as she turns the corner. She notes Bellamy’s surprise, his eyebrows high on his forehead before watching him hang up.

“What was that about?” Clarke asks, eyes on the road.

“One of the Commander’s lieutenants has agreed to meet with us,” he says, looking over at her.

She stomps on the brakes, catches his eye. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” he says. He looks down at his notes. “Tonight – her name is Indra, Octavia knows her.”

Clarke can feel the savage grin splitting her face, knows she probably looks feral, but – she can’t help it. They’ve been working on this for what feels like months (it hasn’t been, but it’s tedious work, stressful work, and she wants a fucking _break_ already), and finally, she thinks – this might be what gets them in the door.

\--

They meet Indra late that night at a bar outside Grounders territory, Clarke and Bellamy in plain clothes. Clarke feels a little naked without her service weapon, but she knows – the only way this happens is with them, at least, unarmed. Indra has no reason to trust the cops, and they need her to trust them, need it desperately.

Clarke recognizes her from Octavia’s description pretty readily; she’s an intense-looking woman, scars on her face and dark eyeliner, her face worn but fierce in the dim light of the bar. She jerks her head to a table at the back of the bar, and Clark and Bellamy wander over there. Clarke thinks that she stands out, looks like a cop, even with her hands in her back pockets and her dark jacket, but Bellamy moves seamlessly through the crowd, and not for the first time, Clarke curses her parents and their insistence on certain pretensions. Pretensions her mother drilled into her, Clarke thinks darkly.

“I have very little time,” Indra starts. “Octavia told me what you’re doing, and I don’t think I care for it. Still, I suppose that we’ve been beaten down enough that I am willing to take even this pathetic olive branch, if it means that we might have a chance to shed light on what happened.” She shakes her head, looks at the two of them, zeroes in on Clarke. “You are Abby Griffin’s daughter,” she says, her gaze steady in the light.

Clarke wants to shuffle her feet, fidget. She knows that this is not a token in her favor now, or any day when she walks the streets. Still – she’s here because she needs to know. “Yes,” she answers, holding Indra’s gaze. 

Indra sneers. “Your mother helped sell us out to the Mountain Men.” She looks at Clarke again, waiting for a reaction, but Clarke doesn’t give her one. This is what she wants to know, and she’s not jeopardizing it. She sees Bellamy writing out of the corner of her eye.

“Your mother and her old partners used to work the Grounder territory,” Indra starts. “They were well enough liked, for cops. They were fair, didn’t seem fussed about the minor stuff, helped keep young girls from running drugs. It seemed like they were willing to work with what it was. They were working on a truce between the Grounders and the Mountain Men. Back then, the Mountain had an okay leader, but he showed up dead in the river, and then it all went to hell. All of a sudden – the Mountain Men had guns with better range, armor-piercing bullets. Those are illegal, as you’re no doubt aware, and generally, cops are very interested in keeping them off the streets. But here they were, coming after us, and when we started talking to our people living near their territory, they were getting picked off one by one, their kids getting poached or killed.”

Indra stops, and Bellamy meets her eyes for the first time. “You know the story. You heard it from your sister.”

Bellamy inclines his head. “Still, Clarke doesn’t.”

Indra turns back to Clarke, the sneer evident on her face now. “Well, all of a sudden, your mom and one of her partners, Detective Jaha he was then, are rising through the ranks. Their other partner gets a promotion, but it’s more modest, and we’re hearing that our people are being cleared off the streets, taken to jail, but they’re also still being picked off by the Mountain Men, and we’re trying to fight back, but they start leaving Molotov cocktails in people’s houses. Octavia’s husband lost his family when their house was bombed and set on fire. But did the cops come out to defend us? No. All of a sudden, we were on our own, and every single boy or girl with a Mountain tattoo was coming after people daily, no one making a move to stop them.”

She stops, glances over at Clarke. Clarke wants to cross her arms over her chest, but just holds Indra’s gaze. Inside, she wants to throw up, scream, throw a tantrum; her mother is _dirty_ , and she can’t even stand it, feels like she needs to take a shower from the inside out. Still, she stays calm, looks over at Bellamy and holds his gaze for a minute. 

Indra finishes her drink. “That’s what I’ve got for you two. If you have any other questions, tell Octavia to contact me.” She leaves her glass, walks out of the bar, leaves Clarke and Bellamy sitting there, Clarke fighting to hold her temper, not burst into tears. She’s never felt at such a loss, so adrift. She thought she knew her mother, and she’s finding that she’s not certain of anything anymore, except for maybe the man sitting next to her.

\--

Bellamy comes home with her, and for the first time, she really doesn’t want him to. She suddenly desperately wants space, wants to hide, cover up the sins she’s inherited from her mother, wants to build up a brick wall to hide behind. She stomps around her house, trying to stomp out her own foul mood, not take it out on Bellamy, but he notices, of course he does, quietly watching her every step like a hawk.

He goes to take a shower while she does the dishes, and she contemplates slipping out, going for a run, but she bundles herself in a blanket instead, lays down on her couch. When he sits down at the opposite end, she winds herself tighter, pulls her feet in. She has an aching sense of restlessness, and she thinks he could probably soothe her with his hand on her spine, but she’s not sure if she wants it right now. She doesn’t really know what she does want.

He gives her space for a while, quietly watching tv beside her. When she hears his stomach growl, she looks over at him to see him get up, grab cereal, and sit back down. When he finishes eating, he reaches for her feet, pulls them into his lap, and she lets him. He doesn’t look at her, just starts gently working the knots out of her feet, and she can feel herself relaxing, ever so slightly – feels relaxation just enough to let her panic, her desperation show through. 

Still, while she’s trying to keep her breathing even, trying to keep from crying over her own frustration, he just kneads at the muscles in her feet, moves up to her calves, lets her take her time. She wants to curl up in him, but she can’t quite make herself reach out. She knows that her mother’s choices are not her own, but she has been raised to be her mother’s daughter, to be above reproach in everyway, just like her mother; and just like her mother, she feels tainted by those same choices, the choices that led to violence and bloodshed, and in the name of what exactly.

When Bellamy stops working at her feet, she looks over at him, meets his gaze for the first time since they left the bar. He looks concerned, and she’s not sure if it’s about her, the case, or the general shitshow that their lives have devolved into. She’s sort of sorry that he’s been dragged into this, but she’s also – she doesn’t think she could do this without him, and it’s with that in mind that she reaches out, squeezes his hand. The frown marring his face lifts a little bit, and she finally moves closer to him, curling into his side and staying there until they go to bed.

\--

They keep working slowly, steadily, and it’s after several more weeks of work that Clarke wrangles a meeting with the leader of the Grounders. She’s called The Commander, and frankly, Clarke’s pretty sure she’s fucking terrifying. Still, at least one of them needs to meet with her, and Indra begrudgingly agreed to set up the meet.

Clarke goes in plain clothes again, her phone in her back pocket. Indra said that only Clarke was to go, but Bellamy’s close by, and Clarke has her speed dial all ready to go, just in case this goes terribly awry.

They meet at a surprisingly normal looking coffee shop, in a very respectable, neutral part of town. Clarke can see, however, that while she was expected to come alone, The Commander has brought back up. There’s a large, bearded man sitting nearby, ostensibly reading a newspaper and drinking from a laughably small mug, but Clarke can see the tree tattoo sticking out under his sleeve, and she knows he’s high up in the organization. Still, she sits down across from the (small, and very young) woman she’s been asked to meet.

She’s not sure if it’s best to offer her hand to shake, and when she meets The Commander’s cold, assessing gaze, she decides it’s not worth it. 

“So. You are Clarke Griffin,” she says, her voice stilted with formality. She tilts her head a little, and Clarke is reminded of a cat. A very deadly cat. “You have been poking around quite a bit, talking with my people. I am not sure I approve, but then, I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

Clarke nods. “Yes, well. I’m sure you heard, but I was shot and my father killed. It’s been a bit of a concern for me. Got me all interested in what’s happening,” She offers a sweet smile to The Commander, going for saccharine.

It startles a small laugh out of the woman across from Clarke, and she finds she’s oddly relieved to see a small thread of humanity in this closed-off woman. In spite of that, she’s still surprised when the woman slides her hand across the table, offering it to Clarke. “Lexa,” she says.

Clarke takes her hand, noting her firm grip. “Clarke,” she offers.

Lexa nods, her face once again serious and closed off. “What can I do for you, Clarke?” she asks.

Clarke fights not to fidget. It’s still tricky, bringing this up, considering she’s asking about her mother, and considering she’s asking about high-level police corruption. “Can you tell me a little bit about how you came to be in this position?” she starts with.

Lexa eyes her assessingly. “That is not what you actually want to ask, Clarke Griffin. Try again.”

Clarke tries not to roll her eyes. “Fine. You obviously know exactly who I am, so you can probably imagine why I’m here. I need to know what happened when you started to make the truce with the Mountain Men.”

The only sign Clarke gets that Lexa is displeased is the tightening around her mouth before she speaks. “I – I was very young at the time,” Lexa says, glancing over at Clarke. Her face is as impassive as it has been during their interaction, but Clarke thinks she sees a flash of vulnerability under the crystalline exterior Lexa projects. “Many of my friends from childhood had died in the territory war, and I was chosen by our people to lead the gang when our last leader died. When your mother and her partners approached us about peace, I talked with them, asked them what they thought. We wanted peace. It’s all we wanted. We got a slaughter, instead.”

Her face hardens. “You ask what happened. We were sold out, like lambs to a slaughter. I’ll never understand why the police sold us out to the Mountain, why they sided with them.” She looks directly at Clarke. “Is that what you wanted to know?” 

Clarke nods, swallows. “I need to know who you were negotiating the truce with.” She doesn’t really want to know, but she has to trace this to the source, has to move it back up the chain.

Lexa snorts, looks away. When she looks back. “You must ask yourself, Clarke Griffin, if you really want to know the answer to that question.”

Clarke feels a flash of irritation spark up her spine. It’s one thing when Bellamy asks if she wants to keep looking, but it’s another when this woman, someone she doesn’t even know, second guesses her judgment. “I’m trying to solve a case. I need to know.”

“Detective Sergeant Jaha was the lead, I suppose, but I mostly negotiated with Detective Abby Griffin and Detective Marcus Kane.” She looks at Clarke. “Watch your back out there, Officer. You’re digging in places they won’t like.” She stands up and walks out without a second glance, her lieutenant following her with only a brief glance at Clarke. She meets his eyes, sees only hardness there.

\--

They’ve been avoiding moving this up the chain of command for weeks. For one thing, it’s a pretty difficult thing to bring up, that you think your commissioner is corrupt. It’s a whole different kettle of fish when you think it’s your commissioner, your superintendent, and possibly your staff sergeant, and it’s made worse when the superintendent is also your mother.

The trouble is, they’re at a dead-end. They know that the Grounders think that the police betrayed them, betrayed the truce, but they don’t know anything about how that happened, and there’s no one to ask without drawing attention to the investigation they’re running, and having it shut down.

Clarke’s also been avoiding dinners with her mother this whole time, in large part because she’s not sure she can look her mother in the eye anymore.

Clarke and Bellamy are sitting in the precinct, typing up that day’s notes, when Clarke’s phone goes off.

“Are you ever going to talk to her?” he asks, gesturing at her phone.

Clarke scowls at him. She wants to tell him to fuck off, to be honest, but that seems pretty childish. Then again, they’ve had a _day_ , arresting multiple petty offenders, simply because, aside from patrolling in the Grounders territory, they haven’t had anything else to do. Still, it’s been a lot of running after drug dealers, people who’ve done petty theft, and her back and her feet hurt, and she just wants to go home and go to sleep (ideally, she wants him to come home with her, but they’ve started trying to spend more time apart, because it’s starting to look ridiculous, and they aren’t even _doing_ anything).

Finally, she flips him off, and answers her phone. It’s her mom, just like she knew, and after listening to her mother berate her for being so absent (“You can’t work yourself this hard, Clarke, it’s not good, even for a new cop. We want them to think you’re dedicated, but not like it’s all you do” – and it’s all Clarke _has_ been doing since she was shot, and she grits her teeth against the anger that flares up, resists the urge to explain to her mother why she is working all the time, because she’s not even supposed to know about the case, much less be working it).

When she finally agrees for dinner, Bellamy is smirking at her. “You finally caved, hm?”

“I’m going to ask her about the case,” Clarke answers. “I know we’ve been avoiding asking her and Sarge about it, but I think it’s time. I’m less worried about Sarge, to be honest. He could have risen much farther in the division, and he hasn’t. The chances that he’s dirty are pretty small. The chances that my mom is dirty? Pretty high. She’s the first female superintendent, after all.” 

Bellamy shakes his head slowly. “When I said you should answer the phone, I meant that you should talk to your mom because she’s your mom, not because of the case.” He catches her eye, holds it. “I know this is important to you, but – we need to take it easy. And you need to take care of yourself.” 

She tamps down on the anger she feels rising from her gut. “I am,” she says coolly. “And I’m going to have dinner with my mother, and start to get more information, because that’s what we _need_ , and I’m doing my job.”

\--

Dinner is unilaterally terrible, and Clarke shows up at Bellamy’s house afterward, because she needs a drink and a hug, and she actually trusts him to deliver on both of those things. 

Instead, she walks in on his dinner with Lincoln and Octavia, and she feels even worse. Still, he tells her to take a seat, and when she starts tearing at a roll and eating it, she is lulled by the conversation happening around her. She still feels wary around Lincoln and Octavia, mostly because there’s an odd dynamic, being friends with people, even wonderful people, people she trusts, who are technically on the other side of the law. Nevertheless, she finds herself laughing, and it’s a relief after the shouting match with her mother; she can actually feel the tension leaving her shoulders.

When Lincoln and Octavia go to leave, Clarke gets hugs from both of them, and Octavia invites Clarke to coffee later in the week. She pecks Clarke on the cheek, and she and her husband leave hand in hand.

Clarke turns back to see Bellamy smiling at her, soft. It makes her stomach lurch, seeing him look at her this way, and she – well, they’ve been very good with their boundaries, for the most part. They share a bed often, but it’s remarkably platonic, easy to keep doing, and neither of them seem to object.

Still, her feelings for him haven’t gone away, and she thinks – she thinks that they’re different. They’re made softer by the immense fondness she has for him, the trust and appreciation she has for him and his work, constantly having her back. But she also brushes up against him when they wake up, his arm accidentally brushing her breast, feeling him hard against her, and yeah, she still wants.

Still, when she closes the distance between them, it’s only to rest her head against his sternum, and his arms go around her almost instinctually.

“That bad, huh?” he asks quietly. She nods, her nose brushing up and down his chest. 

“I probably shouldn’t have pushed,” she admits. “But we need _something_ , any lead at this point. She told me she remembered the case, obviously remembered the case, but didn’t want to talk about it with me. When I asked her if she could tell me about what happened, what led to the breakdown of the truce negotiations, she started yelling, and – Bellamy, she looked _scared_. I – don’t know what to think, now.”

She looks up at him. “I really, really want to find out that she’s clean, that she’s done everything she’s done through hard work and good policing. But I’m worried that I’m being hopelessly naïve, to think that, to even want that.”

“It’s not naïve Clarke. She’s your mom, even before she’s your boss. Of course you want to have good parents.” He sighs. “If she’s clean, we’re going to find it. But I need you to keep being patient. I know you haven’t ever worked on a case this big before. I mean, I’ve never tried to take down the commissioner before, but you’ve also never done a long case before. It takes a lot of patience, and I know that’s hard right now, but you’ve got to hang in there.”

She still really wants to punch him in the face right now, feels the twinge of irritation at being patronized, but – Bellamy is also one of the best cops she’s ever seen, and she knows he’s right, even though she hates it a little bit.

“Come on,” he says finally. “Let’s clean up and go to bed.”

\--

Her meeting with Octavia later in the week is in some ways equally surreal, although there’s a lot less yelling. They meet at the hole in the wall coffeeshop that O really likes, and Clarke takes to it instantly. It’s dim, but in a way that makes her think of used bookstores. It smells musty in the same way, and it’s clearly a well-loved spot.

They sit down and chat for a while, and while Clarke likes O, she thinks the conversation feels stilted, and she’s hoping they’re here for a reason, because otherwise it’s just bizarre.

When they finish catching up, Clarke watches Octavia fiddle with the string on her teabag. She generally seems like a very composed woman, so Clarke finds her fidgeting a little surprising. Still, she waits her out, sipping slowly at her coffee.

Finally, Octavia looks up from her tea. “You need to be really careful with Lexa,” she blurts out quietly. “I know you met with her – Indra mentioned it. She – Clarke, she can be really charismatic. It’s part of why she was chosen as the Grounders’ leader. But it’s not sincere, and – there are a lot of rumors about her, and about what she’s done.”

Clarke can feel her hackles rise. “Rumors like what, exactly?”

Octavia looks miserable. “It’s – not her technically. It’s Gustus, her guard. He takes orders from her, and from her only, and there are some stories of how they’ve handled transgressions in the gang that are pretty horrifying. Just, be careful, okay?” Octavia keeps fiddling with her tea, and Clarke – she doesn’t want to push, but she feels like there’s more to this than what O’s telling her. She waits a minute, then reaches out to still Octavia’s hands. When their eyes meet, Clarke can see the toll this is taking on Octavia.

“I – I think Lincoln was stabbed to keep us quiet.” She says, finally. “We’re – Lincoln hasn’t really been active in the gang since just after his family was killed, and while he’s still a member, when I married him, a lot of his friends stopped speaking to him. They couldn’t trust someone who was related to the cops.” She gives a crooked smile. “But we both know a lot, and I wasn’t there when he was stabbed, I came home to that, but – he doesn’t think it was the Mountain Men.” She breaks off, and Clarke can tell she’s trying to compose herself.

“We don’t have any reason for them to come after us. Lincoln is only in the gang by association; he doesn’t work for them, he doesn’t run anything for them. He works at a coffee shop half the time, and teaches martial arts to little kids the other half. But we _know things_ , like what I just told you about Gustus, and – I think they were worried that I would tell Bellamy, because I knew he was working the case.”

Clarke sucks in a breath. “The case – you mean my dad’s case?”

Octavia nods miserably.

“Fuck, Octavia – are you telling me that you think the Grounders came after me and my dad?”

Octavia looks right at her, doesn’t say anything, and Clarke doesn’t totally know what that means, but – it’s something. She reaches across the table, squeezes Octavia’s hand. They finish their drinks in silence, and then they leave, parting ways with barely a good-bye.

\--

Clarke thinks about their conversation on her way home, nervous energy flooding her veins. She’s not totally sure that she can trust Octavia, Octavia who told her not to trust Lexa, or any of the Grounders. She knows that O isn’t in the gang, but she’s protecting them, trying to protect herself and Lincoln, and Clarke can’t really fault her that, but –

They need to know more about Lexa, and almost more importantly, they need to know more about Gustus.

\--

When she and Bellamy get to work the next day, Sarge comes walking up to them, grabs them each by the arm and marches them toward an interrogation room. He shuts the door to the observation room before looking around to make sure there aren’t any cameras watching them. He turns to face them, crosses his arms over his chest.

“I don’t really want to know what the two of you are up to, because I know it’s better for me not to, but you need to know that they found Dante Wallace dead in his house this morning, and it looks like he was shot by a sniper.” He looks between the two of them meaningfully. “I don’t want to hear about it until you have something, but Sergeant Miller’s division asked for extras to help his homicide squad, so you can go.”

Clarke feels like they practically nod in unison before peeling out of the interrogation room. Clarke has turned out to be the faster driver, so Bellamy tosses her the keys and lights up their siren.

Even as she’s driving, she feels like she’s processing too much, trying to breathe evenly. The sniper – it could be who shot her and her father. It could have been Gustus.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, interrupting her thoughts. She looks over at him, sees him eyeing her cautiously. “Take it easy. We see what we see, alright?”

She nods, tightens her hands on the steering wheel.

\--

The crime scene is a mess. There’s shattered glass all over the pristinely tiled floor of Dante Wallace’s home, and he is laid out as he died, his eyes cold and open, rigor mortis just setting in. Clarke is no slouch of a shot, but even she can recognize the extreme precision that left the bullet centered between Wallace’s eyes.

Dante’s son, Cage, is outside, pacing, occasionally yelling into his phone, and Clarke feels a flash of sadness for him, before it’s replaced with coldness. He recruits children to run drugs, and he’s killed children and families to protect his territory. She feels no compassion for him, only disdain.

Clarke and Bellamy collect witness statements, but there isn’t much for people to report; most of them unexpectedly heard glass shattering, but very few of them saw anything suspicious, and no one heard the shot. When they consult with the ballistic tech, she confirms that the sniper could have been quite far away, and that while she has a general direction from which she thinks the bullet came, she can’t give them anything conclusive on its trajectory. 

Which leaves them with almost nothing in the way of useful information. Still, when Sergeant Miller’s people ask for someone to go East, toward the possible sniper’s nest, Bellamy and Clarke volunteer and are given the task, which gives them slightly more than nothing. 

When they get into the approximate range the ballistic tech said was reasonable, they get back out of the cruiser and start canvassing. This time, while the information still isn’t conclusive, they’re getting some information: they’re getting suggestions of a man in dark clothing living in one of the houses, someone they don’t trust. It’s not much to go on, especially in a neighborhood known for gang activity, but it’s better than nothing. 

Then, they run into a little kid, and if he’s not reliable, he still seems to know a lot, seems friendly with a bearded man that he calls “Gus”. Clarke’s heart almost stops when he says that, and she knows better than to get her hopes up – but. It’s a start. When they talk to the little kid’s mom, she mentions Gus as well, gives a description that involves a hat (and yeah, okay, it’s winter), but also a very bushy beard, and that’s when Clarke looks at Bellamy, and he gives her the tiniest nod. 

It could be Gustus, and it means they have a lead.

\--

“We can’t just waltz in and ask to talk to Gustus, Clarke,” Bellamy says, raking his hands through his hair. “We don’t even know how to _find_ Gustus, and even if we did, he’s impossible to separate from Lexa.”

They’re at her house for one of their weird weekly meetings, Raven, Miller, Monty, and Jasper all huddled around the table, most of them studiously avoiding eye contact with Bellamy and Clarke. They’re all involved in the investigation, but Bellamy and Clarke make the day-to-day decisions, and it’s clear they don’t have a horse in this particular race. 

Clarke is pacing around her kitchen, slamming pots and pans on her stove while she cooks. “We have an _eyewitness_ who thinks she could point him out in a lineup. How can we _possibly_ let that go?” 

Bellamy looks at her, catches her gaze and holds it. “Even if we have that, we have no connection between your father’s murder and Dante’s death. Even if we could prove that the shots came from the same gun, how many people would be able to piece together what looks like two completely unrelated crimes?”

Clarke lets out a grunt of frustration, looking down at her recipe. She shakes her head. “There are connections,” she mutters.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, and the others carefully avert their eyes. “Nothing that’s going to hold up in court, and you know it. We have information, we have an eyewitness, but we need more. I know this is taking time, I know you want to solve this and get justice, but we have to do it right, remember?”

She looks up at him then, looks at the steadiness in his gaze, and the dedication she knows runs through his blood, underlies his every move – it’s written all over his face, and it’s directed toward her. It’s overwhelming, honestly, but it’s a reminder and a promise, and it’s one that she can stand to bear for a little while longer. She holds his gaze and nods.

“Okay,” she says. Looking at everyone else, she laughs. “Mom and Dad are done fighting, kids, you can make eye contact again.” When Raven turns and grins at her, Clarke turns back to the stove. “All right, time for dinner, let’s go.”

\--

Dante Wallace’s case remains open, and Clarke is suddenly grateful they weren’t the first responders, because Cage Wallace is apparently a massive asshole. She didn’t really expect anything different, but Raven’s good friends with one of the cops in Sergeant Miller’s division, and she’s been feeding them as much information as Raven can politely wrangle and flirt out of her. It’s through this connection that Clarke hears that Cage Wallace, and his attorney, Emerson, are at the station _every day_.

Clarke is frankly baffled that a man who so obviously runs a criminal network feels so strongly about getting justice for his father’s murder that he’ll stand in a police precinct for hours each day, but then, Clarke has so many questions about the Mountain Men at this point that she doesn’t even really know where to begin.

When she stares at the pins connecting people together at her board that night, she begins to wonder about this particular piece of the puzzle. She and Bellamy had thought, of course, that someone had bribed Commissioner Jaha, her mother, and Sarge, but it wasn’t entirely clear who that was. The Mountain Men had by far the most to gain, but there’s been no reason for the police to take sides against one gang or the other.

Bellamy’s still on shift when she makes the connection, and it’s so obvious she can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Commissioner Jaha’s son was killed when they were young; he was in Grounder territory when it happened, and his case was never closed. It was assumed that it was gang-related, but there was no evidence to show that. She thinks, though, that it would be enough reason for the Commissioner, and maybe even her mother (and through her mother, Sarge) to side with the Mountain.

There’s still so little evidence, though. She shakes her head just thinking about it, and she knows they’re going to have to try and get a confession from someone. Without that, they’ve got nothing.

She’s still sitting in front of the board when Bellamy walks in. He swoops down, brushes a kiss against her hair, then looks at the board. “Did something happen?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Not really. Go take your shower, we can talk about it when you’re done.” She feels him brush his hand across her shoulders when he passes, and she revels in the reassurance she feels at his touch, his presence. She dislikes the idea of any one person completing another, or even of anchoring them, but she also thinks that without Bellamy by her side these last few months, she might have drifted away, lost her way.

It’s when they’re eating takeout right out of the containers that she explains her theory, Bellamy listening intently and nodding. When she talks about having to get a confession, his face twists, and Clarke can read the mirror of her own displeasure on his face. Still, she knows, with increasing certainty, that someone’s going to have to confess to make progress.

He has his hands steepled in front of his face, clearly thinking, when he finally asks. “Do you think someone else could get your mom to talk about it?”

Clarke snorts. “Who did you have in mind?”

Bellamy’s expression is wry. “Sarge. I think he could be our best bet at this point.”

Clarke nods slowly. “Okay. But wouldn’t information from Sarge be enough?"

“He didn’t move high enough in the ranks, I don’t think. We don’t know what got your mom to be promoted as highly as she has been. It could be legitimate policing, and I’m not ruling that out. But it could be her connection to Jaha on its own, or it could be that he’s blackmailing her into silence. We don’t know, but I don’t know that Sarge knows either, if he’s not been in regular contact with your mom.”

“I’m not sure how we’re going to get him to talk to her without us telling him what we’re doing, so isn’t he going to know sooner or later?”

Bellamy shrugs. “We can think about how to spin it. If we can’t come up with anything, then yes, I suppose we’re going to have to tell him. At this point, it might help to have someone higher up knowing what we’re doing.”

Clarke clenches her hands where they’re resting in her lap before forcing herself to relax. “Okay. We’ll go to him next time we’re on shift together.” She looks at him, catches his eyes, hesitates. When he keeps looking at her, nodding at her to continue. “I’m scared, Bellamy. I – I’m not sure of what. What if we’ve done all of this for nothing? What if my mom’s dirty? I don’t know what’s going to happen at the end of the day, and it’s so clear to me that we’re playing such a dangerous game.” She pauses, looks down, looks back up at him, and the look in her eyes breaks his heart. “What if something happens to you and it’s my fault?”

Bellamy crosses the distance between them to wrap his arms around her. She tucks her nose against his shoulder, and he feels her breathe him in. He can feel the flighty energy moving through her body, and he holds her a little tighter, like the sheer force of his will can keep all of pieces of her from flying apart. “It’s going to be fine, Clarke. We’re going to be okay.”

She shakes her head, and he feels wetness on the collar of his shirt. “You don’t know that,” she mumbles, and her chest expands and contracts rapidly under his hands as she tries to control her sobs.

He noses at her hair, rubs her back. “I don’t. But we’re going to be okay anyway.”

She pulls away from him then, moving to tidy the kitchen. Before she pulls too far away, he grabs her hand and gently interlaces their fingers. “It’ll keep. Come on,” he says, tugging her in the direction of her bedroom.

She wants to hesitate, wants to pull away from him. She wants it not to hurt, if something happens to him, but she knows. She knows how much she loves him, how much she is _in love with him_ , and there’s nothing she can do now to mitigate the damage. He must see it in her eyes, because the look on his face softens, and before she realizes what’s happening, his hands are cupping her face and his lips are brushing across hers. When he pulls back, she wants to laugh at the dazed look on his face, but she chases his lips with hers, instead.

It’s a chaste exchange of kisses, but it persuades her to follow him to bed, to let him pet up and down her spine until she falls asleep.

\--

It comes as a tremendous shock to them when Sarge drags them both into his office three days later when their schedules align again. It’s an even bigger shock when they see Indra sitting, back ramrod straight, hair tucked under a beanie (and it’s a good thing it’s winter, or that would look completely bizarre – it does anyway, honestly, the jaunty angle of the hat softening the severity of her features) in the chair across from Sarge’s desk. She turns her head when Clarke and Bellamy enter the room and raises her eyebrows.

“These two? Really, Marcus?” she asks, and Clarke feels a flash of annoyance at the skepticism in her tone.

Sarge shakes his head. “Believe me, they’re worth their trouble. And I see you already know each other, so I’ll skip the introductions.” He nods at the chairs next to Indra and Bellamy and Clarke sit quickly.

Sarge leans back against the wall behind his desk, looks around his office, and sighs. Finally, just as Clarke feels like she’s going to start fidgeting, he makes eye contact with her directly. “You’ve been working a case you weren’t assigned.”

She nods, refusing to be anything but direct. She can’t deny it, certainly, given the company she’s keeping at this exact moment, and really, it’s probably past time they came clean to him.

He rubs a hand over his face. “I wish I could say I was surprised. It’s very – it’s very like your mother of you.” Clarke makes a face at that, but Sarge moves on. “And Bellamy certainly hasn’t stopped you, so. Here we all are. At this point, I don’t know what you know and what you don’t, but if you’re doing what I think you are, it’s time to fill you in. You’ll either come to your senses, or at least come up with a better plan than this half-assed wandering investigation you have going.”

He glances at Indra, who nods. Bellamy watches the encounter closely, then says, “Sir?” while nodding at Indra.

Sarge sighs again. “Indra has been a confidential informant inside the Grounders for – oh, what has it been? Ten or so years? She’s been working closely with us since her son was killed in an attack by the Mountain Men. She was the person who suggested that we might be able to end the turf war between the Grounders and the Mountain Men. And her information was always good. It’s not at all because of her that we’re here.”

Clarke glances over at Indra, who remains impassive as ever, but inclines her head in Sarge’s direction.

“When we started negotiations, we were talking with both sides, trying to get them to sit down and talk to each other. And it seemed like it might work, honestly. Dante Wallace is a snake in the grass, but he’s nothing like his son, and some parts of the Mountain Men, and some of the Grounders, Indra included, seemed amenable to trying to mend things. But just as we were getting close to making a deal, just as peace was starting between them, everything seemed to turn upside down. The Mountain Men started attacking the Grounders with everything they had, escalating the violence to a degree we’d never seen before.

“We – Abby, Thelonius, and I, had been working in the gangs unit for several years, and we thought we’d seen everything. But it was nothing like the slaughter that started when we thought we were days away from a peace accord. The Commander – you’ve met her, right? Her partner was shot point-blank in the head outside their home, her body left there for the Commander to mourn. And at every step, the Mountain Men had better fire-power, kept targeting Grounder youths until the Grounders were decimated.”

He looks at Indra then, and she nods before speaking. “We had no way to fight back, and we’ve only barely been scraping by since. We can’t tell you much more than what we’ve told you, but – “

Sarge jumps in. “You know about the Commissioner’s son?” Clarke and Bellamy nod, and Sarge smiles grimly. “It’s a hunch, and it’s only a hunch, but – Thelonius started acting more and more erratically the longer the negotiations went on. I never thought Abby seemed suspicious, but Thelonius trained her, so I don’t know what kind of sway he had over her, and whether she just covered her tracks better, but Indra has an in with the Mountain Men who claims to have more information. If you can set up a sting, you might be able to figure out where this leads.”

Clarke and Bellamy share a glance, then nod, offering Indra their thanks.

“Before you thank me,” she says, “There is another thing you should know. There are members of the Grounders who are exceptionally well-trained, those who only serve the Commander. You will be hard-pressed to find any evidence that links them to any deaths, however. They are trained to be like ghosts on any assignment she gives them. I will try to get you more, but I can make no guarantees.”

Clarke nods. “I can’t tell you enough what it means that you’re helping us.”

Indra waves her hand, brushing it off. “Thank me when this is resolved and not before.”

\--

Indra’s contact from the Mountain Men is a young woman, and if she’s even Clarke’s age, she’d be surprised. Still, she gives them an intense look before looking at Indra for confirmation. When she looks back at Clarke and Bellamy, her first comment is, “No names. I’m giving you documents from my father, who’s been keeping records of arms deals we’ve negotiated, but I’m not personally testifying, and you’re not getting my name.”

Bellamy shrugs. “Fair enough. Can we talk to your father?" 

The woman crosses her arms over her chest, her protective stance at odds with the softness of her pink sweater. “Nope. He’s not testifying either. We’ve changed his name on the documents to give him an alias. You’re going to have documentation, but you’re not getting the human bodies behind it. We have too much to lose.” She shares a glance with Indra, and if it’s not friendly, it’s a glance that recognizes the shared risks in their lives.

With that, she hands over a stack of files. “This is all of it, dating back to before the truce negotiations. We don’t have anything else, as far as I know, although if you think of something, you can ask Indra to get in contact with me.” She looks at them, sighs. “Good luck, I guess. This – seems risky, but I hope what you’re doing is worth it.” With that, she turns and leaves.

Clarke and Bellamy share a skeptical look before turning back to Indra. Clarke thinks that, if Indra were a woman to smile in amusement at the discomfort of others, she’d be grinning right now. As it is, she shakes her head. “Tell Marcus if you need anything else from me,” she says.

\--

They look the documents over, pouring over them for nearly a week, and it’s clear that the Mountain has almost unlimited access to firepower, that no one’s been even looking into them since before the truce took effect. It’s damning evidence, but without names attached, Clarke feels like they’re still stuck at square one. They’ve been in a holding pattern of finding crucial evidence, but with nothing to back it up but stories from people who can’t testify, and she honestly thinks she’ll tear out her hair if this keeps up. It’s not even about justice anymore – it’s about trying to understand the pieces of a puzzle that she doesn’t have a guide to. She doesn’t think any young cop has worked such an extensive case, and yeah, she could bring down two gangs with the information she has, but only if she can find the missing pieces, and she can’t help feeling like everything is slipping through her fingers.

(She thinks, some nights, when she’s lying awake alone, when Bellamy’s on shift and she’s not, that this is the sort of thing that drinks cops to drink, drives cops to leave the force, try their hand elsewhere. She thinks it, and it makes her want to dig in deeper, all the while it makes her want to hide away and let it blow over.)

Sarge doesn’t ask for any more information on the case, and she’s not sure if she should be grateful or skeptical. He’s been supportive thus far, and she thinks that’s a good sign that nothing incriminates him, but – he’s not giving them any more help, either, and it feels like that’s part of the puzzle, too, that’s he’ll help, but only a ltitle.

It makes her wonder in equal measure whether Sarge is protecting her mom, and that makes her skin crawl a little.

It’s late one night when they finish looking over the documents that Indra’s contact gave them, and Bellamy’s rubbing his eyes. Clarke looks at him, gaze soft on his features, and she thinks, not for the first time, how lucky she is to have him by her side every step of the way. Too many coppers would have given up on this case by now, but Bellamy – he’s stuck by her, supported her, and she’s grateful to have a partner so dedicated.

When he catches her looking, he gives her a tired smile, just a fast upturn of his lips. They’ve been up late too many nights in a row to count, either working on the clock or off, and they’re both exhausted, but still – “We don’t have anything else,” he says.

 _We don’t have enough_ , is what he means, and Clarke can’t help but shake her head in frustration. They have _so much_ , but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Not enough insight into what’s tearing their city apart.

She tugs at her hair, trying to think. “I don’t know how to get a confession from anyone with this,” she says. “To be honest, I don’t think we’re going to get a confession, and if that’s what it’s going to take to prosecute? We’ve got nothing. Even Indra doesn’t know, or won’t say if she does know what’s going on.”

Bellamy nods, his face grim. “I think it’s likely that she knows, but she also knows the danger of sharing that information.”

“Sarge talked about setting up a sting, but I don’t know how we’re going to accomplish that,” Clarke says. “And who would we even sting? We might have enough information with these documents to take down the Mountain Men, but they didn’t kill Dad. We only know they’ve been targeting the Grounders, but there’s no evidence that they’re targeting us.”

Bellamy pauses, looking at her. “We need a confession,” he says.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “I already said that. We know that.”

“What if we didn’t get a confession from the Grounders? What if we got a confession from your mom? Or the Commissioner?”

“What, that they had manipulated the truce so that it favored the Grounders? What would that accomplish?”

Bellamy grimaces. “You’re not going to like it.”

“I already don’t like it, so you might as well tell me.”

“If we could make it public, somehow – if we could leak it, we might be able to draw the shooter out. They haven’t targeted the commissioner or your mom directly, and they’ve left Sarge alone entirely. What if we could point out a target for them?”

“You’re right, I don’t like that,” she says, angrily. “How would we track the shooter to arrest them? How do we trace the shooter back to the commander? You know that, even if we’re right about Gustus, he’s not going to give up Lexa.”

“If you want to go through with this, you have to let me deal with that.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, feels the stirrings of anger in her chest. “No way. We’re not keeping secrets from each other. That’s how we got into this mess in the first place – people keeping secrets from their partners. You’re going to tell me, or we’re not doing it.”

Bellamy sighs. “Can you trust me, just this once? It’s better that you don’t know.”

“How is that possible? Anyone that you’d use in the Grounders is someone I care about at this point. If we’re putting everyone in danger, we might as well know exactly what’s at risk here.”

He looks at her, and his eyes are darkening in anger. “You want to know what’s going to be at risk? Both of us. Our families. That’s who’s _already at risk_. We’ve put everything on the line, so if we’re going to do this, we need to commit. I’ll track Gustus, with Octavia’s help. She’ll get a tracking device on him somehow, maybe with Indra’s help. I’ll tap his phone. We’re going to get them this way.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, tries to ground herself in the feeling of her inhale, her exhale. “I don’t like it. I think you’re right, that it’s the best chance we have, but I don’t like it. I don’t want you anywhere near Gustus,” she says, and her voice cracks a little. “I don’t even know Octavia that well, and I still don’t want her involved. I don’t want my mom to be a target.”

He reaches for her cheek then, strokes gently at the tears running down her face. “We’re all targets, Clarke. This is the best chance to get us through this safely. At least we can cover some of our targets this way.”

She nods against his hand, lets herself lean into it for a minute before wiping her eyes. “Someone needs to cover Lexa to make sure she doesn’t run.” Bellamy frowns. “She likes me, Bellamy. I’ll know where to find her, and I’ll know how to make it inconspicuous, if she spots me. She can’t get away.”

Bellamy opens his mouth, ready to protest, and Clarke cuts him off. “I’m trusting you. That means you have to trust me, too.” He pauses, before nodding. She imagines they both look miserable, if his face is anything to go on, and she doesn’t like it one bit, but she has to admit, with the information they have, this is the best they can do at this point, and it’s time to get this case closed. It’s time to remember how to be an average copper again, how to live without fear, without the drive for justice.

That night, when they turn in for bed, she has a strong urge to roll him over and explore him with her eyes, her hands, her mouth. In spite of the warmth curling through her veins at the thought of it, she limits herself to curling up in his arms.

She doesn’t want their first night to be their only night, doesn’t want to be left with the memory of his lips on her skin. Just in case.

\--

When they go to Sarge, he is initially adamant that it’s not only a crackbrained idea, it’s suicidal, and he will have no part of it. The longer they talk to him, however, the more they can see defeat crossing his face.

Clarke is the one to press their advantage, asking him to help her for her father’s sake, for her mother’s. When she mentions Abby, Sarge’s face crumples, and it’s with that change of heart that he agrees to call up the Commissioner and Abby, to discuss old times.

When the day comes, they don’t mike Sarge up; they have multiple watchers in the room, and both Clarke and Bellamy were worried that Commissioner Jaha might force a check on Sarge; they didn’t want their ploy being discovered, especially when they miked the table, and their waitress.

It doesn’t go exactly as they planned, but they get enough information from the conversation, and from interviews, first with Kane, and then, based on the recordings, with Abby, to understand that while Abby in particular knew what was happening, knew that Jaha was allowing the Mountain Men’s arms shipments, the violence, to go unaddressed on his watch, she wasn’t complicit. Her rise through the ranks was bought through her own diligence, and her silence at Jaha’s actions.

It’s when they release the recordings that things don’t go to plan. Sarge set up the press release, removed Clarke and Bellamy from any direct interactions with the press, made sure Indra was safe, and let Clarke and Bellamy put their plan into place.

After talking more with Octavia, Clarke feels confident that the coffee shop where she met Lexa is a safe place to bet on Lexa’s presence. When she doesn’t show, Clarke doesn’t panic – she texts Bellamy, and only starts to worry when she doesn’t get a reply.

It’s when she gets to her undercover squad that she hears that shots have been fired across town, that two cops are down that she starts to panic, turns on her lights and sirens, and screeches out, praying the whole way that her mother and Bellamy are okay.

She’s not the first on scene, but she’s the first to Bellamy’s side. He’s bleeding sluggishly from his upper gut, and she doesn’t think his intestines are hit, but she starts applying pressure immediately, cursing him under her breath for being too foolish to wear his vest. She’s wearing hers under her clothes, even if it does make her look bizarre. 

She hears more sirens approaching, and Bellamy’s gesturing at her, trying to get her ear closer to his mouth, and she leans down – “Lexa’s with Gustus. They’re going after your mom. You need to go – “ he manages, before gasping.

“No,” she says firmly. “I’m staying right here with you. Mom will be fine.”

He grabs her, then, holds tight to the collar of her blouse. “ _Clarke_ ,” he says urgently. “They can’t get away with this. If you don’t go after them, they’re going to get away with shooting two cops, and murdering who knows how many civilians. _Go_.” He pushes at her, and she shakes her head, swallowing down her tears.

“ _Go_ ,” he says again, looking up, and she can’t leave him until the paramedics are there, but he’s pushing at her hands now, trying to apply pressure himself, and she’s crying, and she’s furious with him, furious with herself for leaving, but he’s _right_ , and she can’t let them get away with this, she has to protect her mom, she already failed at protecting too many people.

She calls Octavia on her way to the car, demands the tracking information on Gustus, tells her which hospital to go to so she can see her brother, hangs up without saying goodbye. Her hands are still covered in blood – she forgot to put gloves on, just starting putting pressure on Bellamy’s wound, and she’s a scene, but she doesn’t care.

She’s going to bring them down if it’s the last thing she does.

When she tracks down Gustus, she’s not even surprised to find herself outside her mother’s house. She draws her service weapon, and quietly nudges open the front door. As she peers around the corner, she sees Lexa seated across from her mother, and she doesn’t see Gustus, but she knows he must be close.

She creeps around the corner into the sitting room, then “Freeze,” she says, aiming her weapon at Lexa.

Lexa looks up at her calmly. “Clarke. How nice to see you. I was just speaking with your mother about her current position in the department.”

Clarke glances at her mother; she’s clearly been crying, but her posture is ramrod straight, indefatigable even in her shock and fear. “Mom, are you okay?”

Her mother nods, but doesn’t do anything else. “Lexa, it’s over,” Clarke says. “Call off Gustus.”

Lexa looks at her. “Who says he’s present?”

Clarke scoffs, “Like you go anywhere without him. He’s your guard dog, your bully. He only does what you tell him to.”

“Interesting theory,” Lexa says, just as coolly.

“It’s more than a theory,” Clarke says, her anger rising. “He’s practically on top of us, according to the tracker I have on him,” she says, waving her phone. She sees some of the color drain from Lexa’s face, and gets a small hit of satisfaction. “Did you really think we wouldn’t at least make an effort to put the two of you in the same place at the same time? _Call him off_ ,” she says, her voice rising in timbre. 

“Very well,” Lexa says, reaching for her phone.

“Stop,” Clarke says. “Give me the phone, and I’ll call him.”

Lexa gives her a small smile before handing her the phone. “Very well,” she says.

Clarke hits call rapidly, waits to hear a male voice on the other end. When a gruff voice answers, she says, “This is Officer Griffin, I’m with – “ She’s interrupted by the sound of breaking glass, and she’s diving for the floor, the phone skittering out of her reach, and she’s rarely felt so _stupid_ as she does now. Of course Lexa told him to shoot if he heard any voice but hers, but Clarke had to be foolhardy and insist on calling anyway.

It’s only once glass has stopped raining down on her that she looks up to see blood oozing out around her mother’s hands, and Clarke wants to reach for her, wants to help her, but she has to turn her attention to Lexa, instead, and the anger that has been steadily rising in her for months finally boils over.

“What have you _done_ ,” Clarke hisses. “Why did you have to come after us? Was my father not enough? Was I not enough?”

Lexa looks as cool as ever, but something in her persona snaps. “Do you truly not understand, Clarke? The truce, working for the truce? It was all I wanted. I wanted peace. And when it looked like we might get it, that’s when the Mountain came for us in earnest. They killed my partner, my best friend, left her body on my doorstep, like they were laughing at me. They’d killed her with the armor-piercing rounds they have, and I _knew_ , just _knew_ that they’d somehow made a deal with cops. It’s taken me _years_ of working at this to make it to the point that I could get my revenge.”

“It wasn’t even her fault,” Clarke snarls. “You came after the wrong goddamned cop. _She wasn’t dirty_. She was set up by one of her partners.”

Lexa shrugs, looks at Clarke. “Blood must have blood, and I have mine. Now, are you going to cuff me, or let me walk?”

Clarke reaches into her pocket, pulls out her cuffs, and slaps them on Lexa’s wrists before reading her rights. She wants to feel satisfied with the collar; she has the evidence she needs to put away her father’s killers, clear her mother’s name, but – there’s no justice here. Just her own scars, her mother with a bullet wound in her abdomen, Bellamy with a similar wound, and her father dead. A void where there used to be two strong gang leaders, and no one sure what’s coming next. It’s not how she likes her policing, likes it tidy and final, but that seems naïve in the cold light of reality.

\--

She gets her mother loaded into an ambulance, gets Lexa into an armored car, and once she’s sitting on the sidewalk, she has the thought that they don’t have Gustus. He’s loose, somewhere, and she doesn’t know where his allegiance lies with his leader in custody, but it’s not an insignificant concern.

She reports this information in to Sarge, who’s managed to stay intact today, against all odds, and who orders her to take two weeks off to recover. She runs by the station on the way to the hospital, picks up the files to finish (start) the paperwork on the case, hugs Raven on her way out.

She can already feel the exhaustion dragging at her every step, the months and months of work, tireless, thankless, endless work pulling her down. Her mom is in surgery when she arrives, but her prognosis is good. She stops by to see Octavia, and she’s not sure if she’s surprised or not when Octavia throws her arms around her and squeezes.

“You’re not mad?” Clarke asks.

“Of course I’m mad, I’m just glad you were there to try and patch him up. He told me you refused to leave, that he forced you away. And frankly, I’m glad you’re okay, I’m glad Lincoln and I are okay – I’m glad we all have the chance to stay that way.”

Clarke nods, gives her a wan smile. Yeah, she did do that. She gave everyone the chance to survive a little longer.

Bellamy’s asleep when she goes to check on him, and terror grips her heart when she looks down at him, looks at the bandage along his abdomen. She strokes her fingers through his hair, lets it tangle on the rough edges of her skin, then brushes a kiss across his forehead.

She leaves the hospital, and she doesn’t come back for the duration of her time off.

\--

Every time she thinks about going to the hospital, she changes her mind. It’s not that she doesn’t want to see Bellamy – it’s more that she wants to see Bellamy so much it hurts, and it scares her. She knows it’s immature to leave his side now, after everything they’ve been through, but –

Theirs is a relationship forged in fire and blood, and she’s not sure that’s healthy. She’s not sure who she is as a copper without him, and she’s – she’s not sure she wants to stay on the force, at this point, not after everything that’s happened. She doesn’t like how easily it seems that people are corrupted, how easily she gave herself over to the intense drive of the past few months. She’s afraid her own drive is something that’s corruptible, and that frightens her.

It frightens her that she thinks she needs Bellamy to guide her back to the ethical path, that she doesn’t have enough of an internal compass to guide herself. To rely on one person so much seems dangerous, and it’s that more than anything else that keeps her from seeing him.

She wants to remember what she’s like on her own, as her own person, to remind herself that even without him, she’s good, ethical, and moral.

It isn’t until Octavia calls her that she starts to feel truly guilty. Octavia isn’t even angry, which is what Clarke expected. Instead, it’s the disappointment in Octavia’s voice that makes Clarke feel like she’s choking on her own heart.

Still, she doesn’t go see him.

Instead, she walks the mile to the precinct, sits down in front of Sarge, fiddling with her badge the whole time. He waits patiently, until she meets his eyes.

She reaches for the right words, but nothing comes. Finally, she says, “Sir, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.” She forces the words out around the lump in her throat, the terror of her decision threatening to overwhelm her.

Sarge sighs. “Clarke, if there’s anything the past few months have shown, it’s how talented you are at this job. It’s not about being ‘cut out for it’, as you say. It’s about bearing the cost at the end of the day.” He pauses, steeples his fingers. “I never would have assigned this case to you, whether it was personal or not. It’s too much for a young cop to deal with, but you took it and ran with it, because you want justice. That’s not a bad quality in a copper, but it’s – it wears on you.

“You’re going to see a lot of injustice in this job, whether you stay a beat cop or rise through the ranks. I’d tell you to ask your mother, but I know you haven’t spoken to her in several days, so I’m assuming you’re taking as much space as you can.” He looks at her over his fingers, and his gaze isn’t accusatory, not exactly, but she can feel herself flinch under the implied judgment.

He leans over his desk, stills her fingers where they’ve been tracing the number in her badge. When she meets his eyes again, there’s nothing but compassion in his expression, and it’s that more than anything else that makes her want to break. “Take your time, Griffin. There’s no rush. If you decide to come back, there’s a position here for you. If you need to transfer, if you need to do something else, we’ll all understand.” He gazes at her until she manages a nod, ducking her head to hide the wetness on her cheeks. “Dismissed,” he says, waving her out of his office.

She practically runs home from there, makes it to her couch before she collapses, tears coming hot and fast, her body shaking under the weight of her sobs.

\--

It’s another two nights before she hears a key turn her lock, and she knows without even thinking about it that Raven’s come to check on her.

She’s managed to eat three square meals, pull her greasy hair into a bun on her head, and sit in front of her easel for several hours each day, although her brain feels too fuzzy to create anything. Still, she’s curled up on her couch now, and Raven makes a split-second decision before coming over and curling herself around Clarke.

She pets Clarke’s hair, and Clarke knows that if she had any more tears left, she’d be crying, but she’s fresh out, feels wrung out from the inside, like every part of her is bared to the world, and everything is rubbing her soul too raw.

And she knows that her pain is nothing compared to Bellamy’s, to her mother’s, and she feels selfish, but she can’t bring herself to move right now, not when everything feels like so much. Instead, she turns to nuzzle into Raven’s shoulder, and it’s good, but it’s not the person she wants to be wrapped up in.

She just doesn’t know why she can’t go see him, why she can’t move past her own hang-ups to see him, take care of him, be there for him when he was for her.

“Am I broken?” she asks Raven. “I haven’t seen him. How awful is that?”

Raven pets her hair some more. “I think you should go see him, because you’ll feel better being near him, but you’re not broken.” She pulls back from Clarke, pulls her up to sitting. “This has been a horrible rookie year, Clarke. You can take some time to deal with that. You’ve lost your father, and nearly lost two of the people you’re closest to trying to solve that case. That’s a lot. I don’t think keeping yourself away from Bellamy and your mom is doing anyone any good, but if you need some space, you can take that. Just – maybe tell them that.”

Clarke ducks down and buries her head back in Raven’s shoulder. “How did you get to be so wise?” she mutters.

Raven laughs, the noise carrying through her body and lightening Clarke’s spirit briefly. “Practice,” she says. “Now come on, when’s the last time you ate anything other than cereal or eggs?” She takes one look at Clarke’s guilty face, and drags her to the kitchen.

\--

When Raven leaves, Clarke toys with her phone, tries to type out the right message. It’s been so long that she’s afraid that anything she says is going to be harder to deal with than her silence now. Still, she thinks that Raven’s right, and so she types out a quick message.

 _I’m sorry I haven’t been there,_ it reads. _I know it’s shitty, but I need some space_.

She watches the message send, then tries to force herself not to watch and wait for a response. Still, when she hears it buzz, she goes back to check it. 

 _I’m here when you’re ready_ , it reads, and she feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted from her chest. 

Maybe, just maybe, they have a fighting chance after all.

\--

He’s still on leave two weeks later when Clarke shows up at his house with her bags packed. He’s tentative on his feet, she can tell, and she feels the irresistible urge to check him over, run her hands over him to feel the pieces of him, make sure he’s all together. Still, that’s not why she’s here.

“I’m leaving town for a week or two,” she blurts out. His eyebrows raise, and she shakes her head, closes her eyes. “Sorry. Hi.”

He quirks a smile. “Hi.” She looks at him for a minute, drinks in his face. She’s not at all surprised that he looks better than he did at the hospital, but she feels a surge of relief at how _alive_ he looks, and she never thought that would be a standard she would have.

She reaches out for him, traces her fingers along his cheekbones. “I missed you,” she whispers, and she knows it’s unfair, but now that she’s standing in front of him, she can feel the aching that she’s managed to ignore, and it feels overwhelming in this moment.

He looks at her, but he doesn’t say anything, and it’s hard for her to blame him for that. She’s not sure if he missed her or not, isn’t sure what it says about them one way or another. “You could have visited,” he says, finally. “I understand why you didn’t.”

“Do you?” she asks. It’s suddenly extremely important to her that he knows why. “You matter, Bellamy. You matter to me _so much_ , and it was too much after everything. And that’s terrible, I know that’s terrible, but I couldn’t handle the thought of one more loss, and for that loss to be you – I couldn’t. And I knew you were here, that you were going to be okay, but between you getting shot, and my mom, and I’m thinking about leaving the force – “

He cuts her off, sharp. “You’re thinking about leaving the force?”

She nods, swallows hard. “That’s why I’m leaving for a bit. I need some distance, some physical distance from everything. I keep thinking that Gustus could be anywhere, and I need to get out of the city. But I have a date to be back. I told Sarge I’d make a decision.”

She watches him, and it seems like a hundred emotions move across his face, storm clouds rolling in and rolling out at an incredible speed. His jaw works, and she can tell he’s trying to formulate a response. Finally, he shakes his head. “Is it about me? Because we don’t have to work together – “

“No,” she says, interrupting. “It’s not about you. Or, it’s not just about you. It’s not a problem of working with you, although I can see some reasons why we might not want to, in the future.” She flushes a bit at the implication, and they’ve never really talked about pursuing an actual relationship, but she _loves him_ , and – he’s grinning at her, soft, and yeah. They might not get to be partnered again. “No, I just – I started policing because of my mom, and I knew there was a cost, of course there was a cost, but I just – I need to decide that the cost is worth it, and I need some distance for that.”

He nods, slowly. “I’ll be here when you get back, whatever you decide.” He catches her gaze, holds it, and she knows – he’ll support her, have her back, just like he always has.

“Thanks,” she whispers. It’s hard to tell him how much it means to her, that he’ll support her to the ends of the earth. When she can breathe again, she reaches for him, kisses his cheek, breathes him in. “I’ll be home soon,” she says, just barely above a whisper.

He traces her face with his thumbs, noses up and down her cheek. “Call if you need anything.”

She nods, holds very still for a minute, then leans toward him, and this – this feels like their first kiss, even though it’s not. It feels like he’s passing his blessing, his goodwill – some of the goodness of himself along to her, a benediction, and it feels like sunlight filtering through her soul for the first time in months, and _this_ , this right here is part of what scares her: she doesn’t want to depend on someone so much, but she feels full of light around him, and it’s hard to ignore. 

Their lips meet again and again, and she feels like she’s made of light, bright shards breaking through the darkness she’s felt when her tongue meets his, and it feels like spring after the darkest winter, and the feeling lingers, even when she pulls away, untangles her fingers from his hair.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” she asks. He nods, and without a second glance backward, she leaves.

\--

She knows she can be gone for up to two weeks, but she’s made a decision in ten days, and she comes home as soon as she’s decided. As soon as she’s landed, she’s calling Bellamy for a ride, and when she sees him, his face back to its normal tone, a grin stretching across it, she feels well and truly _home_.

It’s all she can do to keep from pushing people out of the way on the escalator before she’s jumping into his arms and bowling him back. He grunts softly, and she feels badly, thinks of his injury, but before she can say anything, his mouth is on hers, and she quickly loses the ability to form words. When they break apart, she rests her forehead against this and looks at him closely for a bit, before telling him, “Hi. I missed you.”

He grins, and she knows she’s made the right decision. 

They still have to go to finish paperwork and go to court, but everything is feeling so much lighter in this moment, and she knows: they did good here.


End file.
